Broken
by StorybrookeMaine
Summary: Mad Swan based, set on Jefferson and Emma coping after Grace and Henry both die (Cheerful, hm?). Every chapter is set on a different song, lyrics at the end for those who are interested. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are welcome, both praise and criticism.
1. Prologue

_Prologue 1_

_"HENRY!" Emma shrieked, dropped down beside her son. She didn't have to look up to know what Cora had done. The smoky dust of a crushed heart landed in a small pile next to her, but when she looked up finally, Cora was gone._

_This was her fault. This was Cora's payback. The Queen of Hearts couldn't take the Savior's heart, so instead she took her son's._

_"Henry," Emma whispered to his still body. "Henry, look at me. Henry. Henry . . ."_

_The palm of his hand lay facing the sky. Emma took hold of it, pressing it first to her lips and then to her chest, tears spilling over and making two thin, salty trails down her cheeks. She bent over, resting her forehead on his chest and sobbing loudly. _

_The forest was dark, empty. Nobody was within miles of them. But that didn't stop her from screaming for people who weren't there._

_"Help! Somebody, please, HELP ME!"_

_She cried, not bothering to hold back the choking wails building up inside her. Why couldn't she stop saying his name?_

_"Henry, you're not dead . . . not . . . no . . ."_

_She kept crying._

_"Henry, don't leave me . . ."_

_She couldn't stop crying. She was so tired. So exhausted. She'd lost too much, too soon. _

_"Henry . . ."_

_Eventually, minutes later, or possibly hours or days or months because time meant nothing anymore, she kissed his forehead and curled up beside him, hugging him close. "I won't leave you," she whispered, brushing back the hair that covered his eyes. His skin was stone cold. "I love you, Henry."_

_She squeezed her eyes shut. Any remaining tears dropped off of her sparkling eyelashes and hit the gold autumn leaves that created a bed for them in the depths of the trees. It took time for her to notice, but even the birds had stopped singing. All was silent in the shadowy woods that surrounded Storybrooke, Maine. All was silent._

_And Emma, her head laying on her son's chest, couldn't help but listen for any sign of life in him; a gasping breath or tiny heartbeat. A heartbeat from a heartless boy._

_Prologue 2_

_He pulled the trigger once. Twice. Again and again. The Queen's body was peppered with bullets, the genuinely shocked expression still on her face as she sunk to her knees. She gritted her teeth together, and at once they both looked at the heart in her gloved hand. Jefferson dived forwards, reaching out, but in the few seconds it took for him to cross the room, she squeezed the heart in her fist and smirked._

_Cora's last act._

_A scream erupted from the other side of the room. Grace hit the floor, screaming in pain and clawing at her chest. "PAPA!" she cried, writhing._

_Jefferson turned at the sound of her voice, disbelief and fear smacking into him harder than a telescope to the head. "Grace. Grace . . . GRACE!"_

_Torn, he glanced back at Cora, who's head fell to the floorboards the moment Grace's screams died out. _

_Grace was okay. She was safe. He'd killed Cora and Grace had survived. Just in time._

_He collapsed beside his daughter, breathing heavily and just cradling her. "It's okay," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair. "You're safe now. She's dead."_

_They stayed like that for only a short time before he realized something was wrong. "Grace? Angel, look at me."_

_Grace didn't move._

_"Gracie?" His voice cracked. "Can you hear me?"_

_Still nothing._

_He laid her down on the floor gently, looking her over. His heart pounded like it was purposefully trying to break his ribs. He brushed the hair off her face, frowning. No. Something was wrong._

_Then it hit him._

_A million thoughts rushed through him at once, blowing through his mind and taking every bit of sanity he'd collected over the past few months. Not Grace . . . anyone but her . . . He looked back at Cora's dead, bleeding body and saw it. The dust, trickling off her open palm and spilling onto the floor messily. _

That's going to stain the rug, I'll bet.

_He stood up slowly, frowning. _

Yup. Going to have to scrub at that with soap, probably.

_Grace . . ._

. . . is fine.

_Grace . . ._

. . . is gone.


	2. Misguided Ghosts

_Misguided Ghosts_

Jefferson opened the door, eyes staring vacantly ahead. "Good morning, Miss Swan."

Emma watched him, feeling helpless. It was agonizingly obvious how devastated Jefferson was. She wasn't looking at a man anymore, but a fragile mosaic of broken pieces. She wanted to put him back together. She knew it wasn't about to happen.  
She kept her pain inside. She bottled it up where nobody could see how weak she was, where nobody could see how much she missed her son.

Jefferson, on the other hand, was clearly dying, both inside and out. When she looked at his face she saw eyes, wet with tears, rimmed with red and highlighted dramatically by a dark shadow that could only mean sleepless nights. He lost his daughter to another world and went mad . . . what happens when he knows she's never coming back?

Emma knew that Jefferson knew bringing back the dead was impossible. He'd been there when Regina had tried to revive Daniel. But she didn't know what that knowledge would do to him - what it had already done. Nobody knew what would happen next.

"It's good you came over. Hate to waste the tea." His words sounded robotic, automated, like there was nobody sitting there controlling him. "I accidentally made two cups again." Short laugh. No humor.

She stepped inside, silent, eyes flitting round the house. Not a speck of dust in sight, nor a misplaced shoe or knocked ornament. Everything was perfect.

At a glance, everything was perfect, but as Emma looked closer she saw the house's only change. The photographs. Every single photo frame was face-down on the shelves, every one probably filled with pictures of Grace and her papa.

Jefferson came in, his shaking hands causing the teaspoons to rattle against the side of the mugs. "Here," he said quietly, setting them down on the table. He then looked around hopelessly, having forgotten how a host is supposed to act. "Um, sit? If you want. I'm not making you sit down but if you want to then you're more than welcome to." He sat down himself, staring awkwardly at the floor. "And there's your tea."

Emma sat in an armchair, taking the tea in her hands and breathing in the warmth rising from the hot liquid. She could turn the heater up to full blast at home and just still feel cold. She had a feeling it wasn't to do with the air temperature.

"Jefferson . . ." she started, looking up at him. "How are you doing?"

"_I want to die_." He blinked. "Fine, Emma, I'm doing fine. Been tidying the house up a little with all the spare time. And yourself?"

She swallowed, willing to pretend she didn't hear him. "I'm . . . coping. I think."

"Coping?!" The changing moods were starting to unsettle Emma. Jefferson glared at her through a mixture of jealousy and revulsion. "How in all the worlds could you _cope_?"

She frowned, shaking her head. "That's not what I meant -"

"If there was any way one could cope, any way at all, then I -"

"Jefferson, listen to m-"

"I see her every night, Emma! She's in my dreams, in my thoughts!"

"Please, Jefferson, just -"

"I make her tea every morning and set my alarm clock to take her to school!"

Emma could feel her armor failing her. "I know it's hard, but -"

"She's never going to go!" Jefferson was shouting at the top of his voice, almost crushing the teacup in his hand. "I'm never going to accept she's gone!"

"_Jefferson_!" Emma screamed, bursting into tears. He'd done it. He'd blown a hole in her protective wall. He'd destroyed her hiding place. She was just as weak as the Hatter himself now.

He looked startled for a moment, before setting his cup down calmly and going over to her. "You look like you could use losing a tear or two, Sheriff," he told her matter-of-factly, and just crouched down in front of her, his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Emma."

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into them. "I'm not coping, Jefferson! I'm going to bed every night and every morning getting up sleepless. I'm barely able to move sometimes because there's no point. I can't cry - I _don't_ cry! This isn't me anymore!"

He pulled her to her feet, steadying her. He wasn't used to it - being strong for someone else when he himself had lost so much. The idea that he could be anything other than selfish right then was ridiculous. His Grace was gone forever and ever and ever but still he blocked that out, and instead held the delicate girl in front of him in his arms.

Emma clung to Jefferson like she never wanted to let go. He was cold, too, frozen actually, but together they made the air around them warm. She cried into his waistcoat, ridding herself of emotion.

Jefferson stumbled back, shaking his head. "Stop crying," he said quietly, menacingly. Then again: "Emma. stop it."

She hiccuped and wiped her eyes, smudging the little makeup she'd managed to put on. One look in the mirror and she was a mess. One look at Jefferson and he was going to snap any minute.

She picked up her coat. "I should go. I was just coming to check on you, and I need to head down to the station to -"

Jefferson chuckled darkly. "You haven't been to the station since Henry died."

Hearing him say it so bluntly stung a little, but she'd had her moment and wasn't about to break down in front of him again.

He was being a jerk and he knew it. "How did you know that?" she asked in a mutter.

"Like I said, Swan. Spare time. Got the old telescopes out and my, oh my, your father makes a very good temporary Sheriff. But is it temporary, Swan?"

"My name is Emma."

"Emma _Swan_."

"It's still Emma." He'd stepped close to her, too close, and she wanted to leave. Rather sooner than later. Rather sooner than after she'd been chopped to pieces by his pair of scissors, or whatever Mad Hatters do when they're at their peak of insanity. "And I'm sorry, Jefferson, but I have to get back. I'll see you around."

His voice dropped to a whisper, almost something seductive. "You haven't left your apartment this week, save today. You've barely been out at all since Henry _died_." He took hold of her arm, gently threatening. "I had a spare telescope. I don't watch Grace's old house anymore."

"Instead you watch mine."

"I was interested in you, Swan."

She sighed heavily and pulled her arm out of his grip, sorting out her hair and pulling her jacket on. "I'll be back at some point to make sure you aren't hanging from a noose by the neck."

There was only silence when she headed back to the door, but as she twisted the handle, the smallest of voices came from the other room. "Please, Emma. Don't leave me here alone."

It was the whine of a child who had lost their favourite toy and now had nothing to play with. It was Jefferson, a lonely little child in a big, empty house. Emma slowly turned on her heels after a moment's hesitation, regretting her weak will, to see his face inches from hers.

How he'd managed to creep up on her like that, she had no idea. But there was no flirtatious hint in the way he looked at her; nothing that made her skin crawl and her feet want to step back. He was purely a shattered man. Lonely. Afraid.

And she genuinely wanted to pick up the pieces.

* * *

**I'm going away for a while, and I'll be back, don't try and follow me,  
I'll return as soon as possible.  
See, I'm trying to find my place, but it might not be here where I feel safe,  
We all learn to make mistakes.**

**And run from them, from them, with no direction.**  
**We run from them, from them, with no conviction.**

**'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts travelling endlessly.**  
**Don't need no roads . . . In fact they follow me.**  
**And we just go in circles.**

**Now I'm told that this is life, and pain is just a simple compromise,**  
**So we can get what we want out of it.**  
**Would someone care to classify broken hearts and twisted minds?**  
**So I can find someone to rely on.**

**And run to them, to them, full speed ahead.**  
**No you are not useless, we are just . . .**

**Misguided ghosts, travelling endlessly,**  
**The ones we trusted the most pushed us far away.**  
**And there's no one road, we should not be the same.**  
**And I'm just a ghost, and still they echo me.**

**They echo me in circles.**


	3. Don't Look Back

_Don't Look Back_

It was a treacherous drive up the hill as the snow started to settle, but Emma was determined to make it. After turning her back on Jefferson and leaving him there, hurt and alone in his mansion, she regretted her actions every second driving home. Three days had passed and she'd convinced herself that going back was for the best, even if just to make sure there wasn't a suicide note by a body left there.

When she pulled into the drive, skidding a little, she got out the car and pulled on gloves. The winter evening had a biting chill to it, so despite the coat, the gloves and the heating in the bug, she was still shivering when she approached the door, taking hold of the large brass knocker and thumping twice.

The door opened almost immediately, and Emma breathed out a relieved sigh - visible in the minus temperatures - when she saw her Hatter still alive.

He gave her the same vacant look as he did last time. "Good morning, Miss Swan."

Emma clicked her fingers in front of his eyes, making him blink. "Jefferson, it's after nine." She paused. "In the evening."

"Good evening, Miss Swan," he corrected dazedly.

Stepping sideways, he gestured sweepingly for her to come in. "I'm afraid I fell behind in my cleaning . . . Do excuse the mess."

She stepped inside politely, slipping off her shoes and looking around. "Jefferson, there's no mess. You tidied it only days ago."

Silently, he took her hand and led her into the room next to them. "I said mess . . . I promise you, mess."

She looked around at the room he'd led her into . . .

. . . _Mess_? It was destruction.

Emma looked around in mild horror at the room she stood in, unsure how to reply to him. Torn leather covered the overturned sofas, photo frames lying in shattered pools of glass. The ground was littered with drops of blood and smashed ornaments. A telescope, still attached to the tripod it usually stood on, hung out of a smashed window. Curtains ripped from rails, paintings owned gaping holes, books had pages pulled out and scattered round.

She covered her mouth with her hand, stepping backwards and bumping into him. "Jefferson," she whispered, "what have you done?"

He looked almost as grim as her when his eyes scanned the room. "I - I kinda flipped out," he admitted softly, hanging his head. She felt his forehead press into her hair but she didn't move away. Whether it was her still-stunned mind or the comfort that feeling somebody else actually there gave her, she didn't know, but she wasn't about to step away.

"I'm sorry, Emma." There it was again. The whining voice that made her want to cry. "Don't go. Everyone always leaves me behind." There was a short pause as neither said anything. "I don't want you to go."

She turned round and put a hand under his chin, lifting his head up so he could look at her. "Jefferson," she mumbled, losing herself in the depths of his eyes, "you don't have to do this to yourself."

"I can't help it," he replied in a whisper. His fingers reached out and grabbed at the sides of her loose-fitting shirt, merely trying to find something to hold onto. Something to keep him standing, to keep him on the ground. Frantically grabbing at the sanity he had left.

Emma sighed, her own eyes filling with hurt. "Things will get better," she said, feeling hopeless.

"You can't promise that!"

"Shh, shh . . ." If there was anything she could've done then to lessen his pain, she would've. It was built into Emma; putting others first no matter what. And whether that meant stepping in front of a gun, or pushing her own misery to the back of her mind, or sacrificing herself to save another, then she'd do it without thinking twice. She was the Savior. She had to help him.

The problem didn't come when she tried to forget Henry for a moment. The problem came when she had no idea what to do to help Jefferson.

So she looked round the room, and then back at the man. "Grab your coat," she instructed, "and some shoes that will survive the snow."

He eyed her warily. "Why?"

"We're going on a walk."

* * *

As soon as they stepped outside, the chill of the winter air swept over them, causing them both to momentarily freeze in their places. It was nearing ten o'clock, and an eerie fog had started to settle on the rising snow. Emma's gloved hand took hold of Jefferson's and squeezed slightly, leading him down the steps. "Careful," she said, "they're icy. Don't fall."

Jefferson looked round his surroundings like he'd never left the house before in his life. His free hand floated up, catching a snowflake and curling his fingers over it. He stared around in wonder at the scene around them.

"Emma . . . it's beautiful."

She grinned, relieved, and it felt so good to smile. She hadn't smiled since Henry - well, since Henry. Tugging Jefferson forward stiffly, she steered him out of the driveway and into the forest.

He froze at the entrance to the trees. "Grace," he mumbled, almost mouthing the word. "She loved the snow on the trees. She'd point up and say 'Look, Papa, isn't it pretty?' ever since she could talk. When she heard about Snow White, the _criminal_, the first thing she said was 'How could she be a criminal if her name's Snow?' and I laughed, but I never answered her." Jefferson's lips remained parted as his gaze flickered from the treetops to Emma's face and back up. "If only I could answer her now."

Emma kicked the thin layer of snow, finding dead leaves still buried underneath, and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. "I have to say, I know what she means." She gestured up with a flick of her head. "It's a stunning view."

They trudged through the silvery-white cluster of trees, feeling like they'd walked into a Christmas card. Occasionally, one of them would trip up on a hidden danger or slip where the ice was starting to form, sparking up a brief flame of conversation, but generally not talking. That changed only when Emma was walking ahead, and she glanced round.

"Jefferson?" she called, but the man was nowhere in sight. "_Jefferson_!"

She started retracing her steps, when an arm wrapped round her waist. She froze. "Who's there?" she whispered, her breaths billowing out in clouds in front of her.

"If we're going to be out here, Miss Swan," the rough voice whispered into her neck, "then why not have some fun?"

She swallowed. "Jefferson, don't you dare -"

Her next words were cut off when he spun her round in his arms and jumped up, grabbing hold of a branch above her head and ultimately showering her with snow. She squealed, stumbling back and hitting the tree, wiping the snow off her numb cheeks and laughing. "You idiot!" she cried as he started running, and went to follow him, scooping up snow from the ground and chucking it at his back. "Jefferson!"

"Can't catch me!" he sang, bouncing up and down. When Emma saw his face she saw a light in his eyes like nothing she'd seen in him in a long time, possibly ever. He was wild; he was insane. And she loved it.

"You're going to regret doing that, you know!" she shouted back, still following him at a sprint. Instead of throwing another snowball at him, she aimed at the branch above, knocking a huge pile onto him. He yelled in shock, shaking his head and brushing the snow off his shoulders.

As he'd stopped running, she crashed into him and went falling to the ground. Before she could hit the bottom, though, Jefferson swooped down and caught her, gathering her in his arms.

Both of them shivered in the winter woods. Icy-cold trickles of water ran down the backs of their necks. She wrapped her arms round him, eyes closed and just embracing the feeling of another person, of human contact.

Ten minutes passed. Possibly an hour passed before Emma pulled away reluctantly, just dusting off the snow that had begun to settle on their shoulders and backs and ruffling his hair.

He smiled down at her, offering a hand silently. Curious, she took it, and he placed his other hand on her waist, pulling her round. At first she had no idea what he was doing, but then it clicked. Her eyes widened. "Jefferson, I can't, you haven't seen me dance. I'll end up killing you."

"Hey," he murmured softly, tugging her closer. "Don't talk. Just trust me."

She breathed out, resting her head on his chest and listening to his slow, steady heartbeat. She was pretty sure her heart was racing a mile a minute, but she didn't have the energy to figure out why. They just moved in slow circles, lost in their own thoughts but painfully aware of each other's touch.

And the snow kept on falling, blanket upon blanket covering them until they could no longer see their feet when they stepped.

Maybe it was nice to finally be peaceful, no matter how short-lived the relief would be. Maybe it was worth it.

* * *

**This won't be the first time that I'll give it all I've got,**  
**I promise I don't mean for everything to turn out wrong.**  
**I'm not a complex person: wind me up and watch me go.**  
**You'll always be second to my love for the unknown.**

**It's late and your nose is turning red from the cold,**  
**Our feet are walking rhythmically, crumpling the snow**  
**and I have got myself a question, that I would like to ask:**  
**When it gets to midnight, will you take my freezing hands and dance?**

_**It's too late for me, but you can still be free if you leave now,**_  
_**And don't look back, my love.**_

**I'm a sucker for stability, which might come as a surprise,**  
**But I can't help but love the way you smile to one side.**  
**We don't need the music to remind us what we've lost - **  
**I can barely move my fingers and I'm slipping on the frost.**

**Now the dark is all around us, but for the full moon in the sky.**  
**The world is silent to me; we're the only ones alive**  
**and I can see my breath in front of me, dancing in the air with yours.**  
**We both know what we want, but we can't, 'cause we're so unsure.**

_**It's too late for me, but you can still be free if you leave now,**_  
_**And don't look back, my love.**_


	4. Lost

_Lost_

Emma woke to the sound of screaming.

She bolted up from where she lay on the ripped up leather sofa, tangled in the blanket that had been draped over her and just shaking it off hastily. Her instincts took over and before she could think twice, she stumbled out of the room, up the stairs and crashed into Jefferson's bedroom.

He screamed again, thrashing on the bed and crying. "No . . . No . . . _No_!"

"Jefferson!" Emma shouted at him, picking up a pillow that had slipped down the side of the mattress and throwing it at him. "Jefferson, wake up, dammit!"

Emma soon learned that pillows did not wake up people from the depths of their nightmares. She stared, utterly helpless, as Jefferson hit the mattress with his fist and sobbed into the sheets. When his punches started to direct more to himself, though, she had to do something.

So she grabbed his flailing arm by the wrist and, using all her strength against the guy, pinned him down to the bed. One knee either side of his waist, hands holding down his resisting arms, Emma finally got Jefferson under control and he slowly stopped crying, starting to wake.

When his eyes opened, his body still trembling with fright, he looked up at her. Confusion riddled his face. "Emma . . . ?"

A moment passed when they just stared at each other.

_What's going on?_

_I, um . . ._

Emma scrambled off of him and stood up beside the bed, dusting herself down and hiding her burning cheeks with her hair. "You were shouting . . . I tried to wake you up . . . You wouldn't . . . You kept hitting yourself . . ." She trailed off awkwardly, glaring at her hands. "Sorry."

Jefferson looked up at her and chuckled, rolling over and standing up. "I think I'll manage to forgive you," he replied, smiling. "I think."

"Shut up," she muttered, clearly still embarrassed. "It's morning anyhow."

"Indeed it is, Miss Swan." He brushed past her on his way out the door, and grabbed a shirt that was hanging over the back of a chair. Pulling it on, he looked at her. "Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

"I should get home," she said, still quiet and averting her eyes until all the buttons were done up on that shirt of his. "I didn't warn anyone that I would be away . . . all night . . ."

"Aw, come on, Sheriff. At least stay for breakfast?"

"Fine." She looked up at him. "A coffee, if you don't mind."

He leaned back against the wall. She didn't know what was supplying this air of fun, this unnatural happiness, and she didn't know how long it would last, but he was calm. Normal. A faint smirk played on his lips as he regarded her in the early light peeping through the curtains. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a cup of tea, Sheriff? Special home-made brew, in fact."

She looked at him a moment. And a moment longer. Was he making jokes? The man that had, moments ago, been screaming his head off - though that wasn't a metaphor she'd use in front of him - was making jokes.

She simply glared at him, not really in the joking mood, and said, "I'm warning you. Don't you dare do anything to my coffee or you're toast."

"You'd like some toast too, then? That can be arranged."

"Shut up, Jefferson."

* * *

"I dream about her, every night. What I could've done. What I didn't do."

Jefferson stirred the sugar into his tea, tapping the spoon on the side and then dropping it onto the saucer carelessly. Emma sat across the table, holding her own mug in her hands and again trying to take in the heat.

"I don't have nightmares," she said bluntly, gazing into the dark brown liquid. "In fact, I don't dream at all. I never have. People talk about dreams and I know I have them, there's something there, but I can never remember what."

"You're lucky," he replied darkly, glaring at her. "I'd give anything not to have dreams. Or nightmares. Or at least not to remember them. My mind has a habit of taking the memories I hate and branding them on the back of my eyelids so that the moment I fall asleep, the things I try to block out attack me defenceless." He sighed unhappily, stirring his scalding-hot tea with his finger despite the spoon beside it. "Be glad you don't dream, Emma."

She really was.

"But every night, I see her in my arms. You know, when she first -" His voice cracked and his hand flew to his mouth, stifling a sob. It took him a moment to regain his composure but he continued on like normal afterwards. "When I killed Cora, I thought I'd saved Grace. I hugged her and cradled her and it took time for me to realize she was - gone. And this wasn't madman acting mad. I genuinely thought I'd saved her." Pain filled his eyes as he met Emma's. "When I finally saw what had happened, I wanted to tear myself apart."

There was a long silence.

"I honestly still do."

"Jefferson, don't say that."

"She looked so beautiful," he continued, "even in death." He blinked, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. "Golden curls - much like yours - and her brand new dress. I bought it for her the week before and she kept wearing it, day after day. The white one with the blue ribbons."

"I remember it."

"And I was the proudest father in all the worlds." Jefferson smiled tearfully. "She was my Grace and I loved her more than anything and if I'd been a better papa . . . maybe she would still be here."

Emma reached over the table, taking his hand. "Blaming yourself does nothing. Blame Cora. Cora killed her, not you."

He squeezed her hand tightly, too tightly, and shuddered. "Why couldn't it be me?" he whispered. "Why couldn't I be the - the one that _died_? Anything, anyone but Grace."

The vacant look in his eyes was starting to reappear, mixed with confusion; a wounded animal that couldn't quite figure out what had happened and why it had to die. His hand went slack for a moment, only a moment, but the mug still fell from his hands and smashed on the tiled floor.

"I see her, every single time I close my eyes. I replay the scene in my head. She and I were upstairs, staying out of sight. I told her it was a game of hide and seek, so she wouldn't get scared. It worked, of course, and I knew she was in the cupboard but I pretended not to know. I had a gun - the one I took from you all that time ago, Emma - and I was prepared to kill Cora if she even came near the house. I figured it would only be a matter of time until she came after me. After all, I was her Hatter that failed his job, the one that never got it to work."

Emma had the idea that had he not already dropped his teacup, he would have then. But Jefferson continued talking, trembling. "So, I heard a noise from downstairs: a door shutting. Part of me should've known better than to leave Grace alone but I was determined to get to Cora before she could hurt anyone else. I crept down the stairs, heading towards the back door -" He paused a moment, thinking, "- because the front door shutting made a very different sound and I knew it was the back door." He swallowed.

"Least, I thought I knew it was the back. But then I heard a sound from upstairs, which explained everything." He frowned momentarily. "Not any sound. A scream. Grace. I flew up the stairs in a matter of seconds and burst in, not even hesitating to shoot Cora." He let go of Emma's hand. "Once, twice, thrice, I don't even know. I just couldn't stop shooting. Grace was behind me, I was protecting her. Only when I stopped firing did I realize that Cora had her heart."

Jefferson started to deflate, right in front of Emma's eyes. "I tried to get there before Cora could do anything and Grace started screaming, shrieking in agony like she was being tortured in flames. It was so scary. I was so - scared. But Cora died and Grace lay crumpled on the floor and it didn't even cross my mind at first that she, too, was gone."

"And you dream about that, every night?" Emma replied, attempting to sound normal but her voice barely making a whisper.

He nodded, standing up and going to get a cloth for the tea on the floor. "It's like I'm there, in a cinema, watching everything. When I go down the stairs, every fiber of me is yelling at me not to go, but I'm not the one in control. I'm screaming at myself, trying to turn myself around. '_Get her out of the cupboard. Run._' . . . I never do. I watch her die. Over and over and over again."

* * *

**My hope is on fire, my dreams are for sale.  
I dance on a wire, but don't want to fail her.**

_**I walk against the strain**_  
_**Fight for what I believe in.**_  
_**I run towards the end**_  
_**Trying not to give in.**_

_**She's lost in the darkness, fading away,**_  
_**I'm still around here, screaming her name.**_  
_**She's haunting my dreamworld, trying to survive,**_  
_**My heart is frozen, I'm losing my mind . . . **_  
_**Help me, I'm buried alive.**_

**I'm burning the bridges, and there's no return.**  
**I'm trying to reach her, I feel that she yearns.**

_**I walk against the strain**_  
_**Fight for what I believe in.**_  
_**I run towards the end**_  
_**Trying not to give in.**_

_**She's lost in the darkness, fading away,**_  
_**I'm still around here, screaming her name.**_  
_**She's haunting my dreamworld, trying to survive,**_  
_**My heart is frozen, I'm losing my mind . . . **_  
_**Help me, I'm buried alive.**_

**I tried to revive what's already drowned,**  
**They think I'm a fool who can't realize,**  
**Hope plays a wicked game with my mind,**  
**'Cause I thought that love would bind.**  
**I cannot revive what's already drowned, she won't come around.**

_**She's lost in the darkness, fading away,**_  
_**I'm still around here, screaming her name.**_  
_**She's haunting my dreamworld, trying to survive,**_  
_**My heart is frozen, I'm losing my mind . . . **_  
_**Help me, I'm buried alive.**_

_**Buried alive . . .**_


	5. Like You

_Like You_

It took a lot of work. A lot of persuading. Hours of debating and shouting and more hours of comforting and crying. But eventually he agreed.

She turned up early on his doorstep, ringing the bell and dragging her shoe against the ground. When there was no answer, she rang again, rapping on the glass. "Jefferson? Open up!"

Still nothing.

Emma bent down, sliding the spare key from under the mat. Just as she slotted it into the lock, however, the door swung open, and a dazed Jefferson stood the other side. His black suit and tie didn't quite fit him and the scar that ran round the rim of his neck was half-covered by the upturned collar of his shirt. It looked odd but it did the job of hiding what a scarf normally would.

He looked at the key and pulled it out, studying it curiously. "Really, Miss Swan?"

"I was getting worried," she replied nervously. "You weren't answering."

"You should be patient," he murmured, stepping out into the chilly December and shutting the door after him. "At least we're driving this time and not throwing snowballs. Though I must admit I do feel strange still in the electronic carriages."

"Please tell me that's a joke, Jefferson." Twenty-eight years and he still thought of cars as 'electronic carriages'?

"It was a joke."

* * *

When Emma parked outside the graveyard, she saw a mass of people already there, milling around in black formalwear. She clenched her jaw, preparing to just survive through the event, and stepped out.

Jefferson wouldn't get out. He held his face in his hands, shaking his head, muttering to himself. "No, no, no. Not good. Can't go. Won't work."

She opened his door and offered him a hand. "Jefferson, everyone's waiting, and we won't start without you."

"But she's in there."

"I know."

The silence stretched between them, carrying a hundred thousand thoughts. How could they step into the cemetery when their own children lay dead in coffins at their feet? How could they go to a funeral when that meant saying goodbye? To Jefferson, saying goodbye was unthinkable. Letting go of Grace was unthinkable.

As for Emma, she'd always been much more rational. Maybe she wasn't ready to let go of Henry, either, but she'd at least let the other residents of Storybrooke have the chance. She crouched down on the road, prising Jefferson's hands away from his eyes, and gripped them in her own. "Come on, Hatter. We need to go. They're all waiting."

Cautiously, she coaxed him out of the car and onto the concrete sidewalk. He clung to her like she was keeping him afloat but she just led him along, a lost puppy on a leash.

When they walked into the graveyard, they were greeted by Archie Hopper, his eyes glistening under the glasses. "Sheriff Swan, Jefferson. It's good to see you came." He looked down and then back up at them, eyebrows creased in sadness. "I'm sure you'll both benefit from today."

Archie removed his glasses, wiping them on his shirt, and slotting them back on. "I - I believe Mary Margaret, or Snow, was looking for you earlier, Emma."

"Oh." Emma had completely forgotten about her parents. "Thanks."

Still arm-in-arm with Jefferson, she made her way into the spacious crowd, looking around at everyone. Archie stayed standing by the gate to welcome in any last-minute guests, and Emma ducked through crowds to find her mother.

Jefferson tugged his arm free, pulling her to a halt. "Emma, listen . . . I'm going to talk to . . ." he winced suddenly, " . . . _Paige_'s curse parents. I can see them over there."

Emma nodded absent-mindedly, but the minute Jefferson left her side, she almost missed him. The side of her body where he'd been standing close felt cold, bare. She didn't have long to dwell on it however as she walked straight into Regina.

There was a long silence as the two regarded each other. "I'd watch where you're walking, Sheriff, if I were you," Regina said coldly. "This is your big day, anyhow. The moment when Henry's _mother_ gets to say her goodbyes."

"Regina -"

"After all, I'm not his mother anymore, am I?" She glared at her. "You can play the sympathy card with anyone else in this town, Sheriff, but not me. I don't suppose you've told anyone what really happened, have you?"

Emma straightened, trembling slightly. She felt like a gust of wind would be able to blow her down, but she gritted her teeth and kept her stare with the Mayor. "What happened was Cora's doing, Regina," she muttered through her teeth. "Not mine, not yours."

"Not mine, definitely. But it was your fault. You think you know everything, don't you, Miss Swan?" Regina stepped forward, eyes never even glancing away. "I offered to take Henry. I offered to protect my son. But you and your little know-it-all attitude refused, and here we are, standing beside an open grave that contains his dead body!"

Emma couldn't help it; she stepped back. Looked at her hands. Struggling under the weight of guilt Regina Mills had dropped on her. "You think I don't regret that?" she whispered. "You think I don't run through that night over and over again in my head, wondering why I didn't do what I should've? I hate myself for not trusting you, Regina."

"I hate you too, Emma. I hate you for not trusting me. Not believing. I hate you for taking my son away and breaking the curse and I've hated you from the moment I laid eyes on you!" With Henry gone, the secrets poured out. Everything Regina had left bottled up so she could be a better person. Everything she wouldn't say when Henry was there because she wanted his love so desperately. "He was the only person left in this world that could still love me, Emma Swan, and _you_ let him _die!"_

The cemetery fell silent as all eyes turned to them. Regina's shouting, Emma's shaking. She couldn't cry, not there and not then. So she raised her head, a lone tear splashing onto her cheek, and she said in a clear voice, "You've been asking Storybrooke to forgive you over the last several weeks for what you've done. Now it's my turn, to ask you to forgive me."

* * *

Mary Margaret never stopped crying through the actual ceremony. She stood beside Emma, their hands clasped together tightly, but David held her close through the whole thing. She cried into a handkerchief, which muffled her sobs, but they were sobs all the same. Each tremor through Mary Margaret's body shook their hands slightly and every time their hands shook slightly, it pushed Emma a little closer to falling over the edge of her cliff of despair.

Jefferson stood on the opposite side, beside his daughter's grave. Mary Margaret has initially been given the job of organizing Henry's funeral but then she'd taken on Grace's too, making them joined. Just as the two friends would've liked.

Behind Jefferson stood Paige's parents; the very same people Emma had looked at through a telescope a hundred thousand years ago. They looked mournful, but their pain looked nothing compared to the heartbreaking sorrow plastered on the Hatter's face.

Regina stood behind Emma, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. Emma had yet to know if she would forgive her.

She'd been expecting a small group of people, but at least a hundred had turned up. Friends, family, neighbours had turned up to pay their respects to the two children.

The coffins were suspended above the pre-dug graves, the coffins that no doubt contained two heartless children who didn't deserve to die.

When the ceremony was finished, the coffins buried in the grave and the crowd dispersing, Jefferson sought out Emma in a panicked urgency. "Emma!" he shouted, running over and grabbing her arm to pull her to the side.

"Jefferson?" she asked, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Why aren't you wearing a dress?"

She blinked, startled. "That's what's wrong?"

"It's not wrong." He smiled. "I was just asking. Why aren't you wearing a dress?"

She stepped back a little, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. "I, um, I don't wear dresses often. Rarely."

It was true, though. While every other woman in the graveyard wore a black dress, from long to short, from frills to lace, Emma settled for black pants and a dark grey shirt. She didn't wear a jacket of any sort - it might be cold but she preferred the goosebumps for some reason.

Jefferson noticed her shivering, and took off his blazer. "Come on," he said quietly, draping it round her shoulders. "We came, we watched, we did everything we needed to. Let's go."

And Emma would like to think she agreed for his sake, because he clearly didn't want to hang around, but honestly, she was just as afraid as him.

* * *

**Stay low, soft, dark, and dreamless,**  
**Far beneath my nightmares and loneliness.**  
**I hate me, for breathing without you.**  
**I don't want to feel anymore for you.**

**Grieving for you, I'm not grieving for you.**  
**Nothing real love can't undo,**  
**And though I may have lost my way,**  
**All paths lead straight to you.**

_**I long to be like you,**_  
_**Lie cold in the ground like you.**_

**Halo, blinding wall between us.**  
**Melt away and leave us alone again.**  
**The humming, haunted somewhere out there.**  
**I believe our love can see us through in death.**

_**I long to be like you,**_  
_**Lie cold in the ground like you.  
There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,  
I'm coming for you.**_

**You're not alone,**  
**No matter what they told you, you're not alone.**  
**I'll be right beside you forevermore.**

_**I long to be like you, **_  
_**Lie cold in the ground like you.**_  
_**There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you.**_

**And as we lay in silent bliss,**  
**I know you remember me.**

_**I long to be like you,**_  
_**Lie cold in the ground like you.**_  
_**There's room inside for two and I'm not grieving for you,**_  
_**I'm coming for you.**_


	6. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

_Tomorrow Will Be Kinder_

Emma gave Jefferson time to recover from the funeral. She knew that it would have to happen soon. The moment when the Hatter truly went mad.

But she had a feeling - more of a hope, actually - that what she was doing was working. Being there for him. Helping him. Being able to understand him because she herself was in the exact same sort of pain as him. She hoped that the connection they had would stop him from feeling so alone. And she wouldn't lie . . . without him, she'd probably have gone over the edge long ago.

Because while Emma understood Jefferson, nobody seemed to understand _her_. She tried to stop thinking about Henry constantly, because not a day, an hour, barely even a minute passed without him rising to the surface of her grief-stricken mind, but it seemed like everywhere she went people felt the need to tell her "I'm so sorry for your loss" or "He's in a better place" or something utterly useless like that. The story of the Sheriff's son had spread through the entire town but people never seemed to figure out that losing your child is even worse, far worse than anything else. It wasn't just losing them; it was losing yourself.

And every idiot who brought up the subject of Henry Mills to her as she passed them, everyone who didn't realize just how agonizing the words "I'm sorry" were to her, they all just managed to refresh the pain that she'd managed to keep at bay since the last person she saw expressed their sympathy.

She left Jefferson alone for six days, and took the time to officially quit her job and hand over the Sheriff's position to her father, David. When she drove into the woods, up the hill, and to the house along the route she knew so well now, she knocked on the door and stepped a few paces back.

There was no answer, but judging by last time, when he'd opened the door on her with the spare key in the lock, she decided to give him time.

When time did nothing for her, she knocked again, and waited some more. And some more. And then went to get the spare key, opening the door immediately.

"Jefferson?" she cried, running in and skidding to a halt. "Jefferson!"

The house was completely quiet, still. It occurred to her that he was out but where would he go? She ducked her head into every room but they were all empty. Lounge, kitchen, bathrooms, even his bedroom showed no signs of life. His curtains were drawn and the duvet tucked under the mattress neatly, without a crease in sight. Then there was the room that never really had a name - the room with all the hats, the room with the tea, the telescope that used to be facing Paige's house.

They were all empty.

_He's probably gone out for a walk_, she told herself. _There's nothing to worry about_. She sank to her knees by the stairs, sighing and embracing the quiet. From downstairs, a clock ticked, and she forced herself to make her heartbeat match the rhythm of the seconds.

"Emma?" a quiet, lone voice asked, from the room next to where she knelt. She jumped slightly, looking at the closed door, and stood up to open it. Only it was locked.

"Jefferson?" she questioned, pressing her forehead and the palm of her hand to the painted wood. It was the only room she hadn't looked in. It was Grace's bedroom.

"Emma," he whimpered, and soon after she heard a muffled sob.

"Jefferson." She hit the door with her fist and the whole house trembled. "Jefferson, open the door, right now."

"I can't . . ."

"_Open up_!"

"I can't!"

She stepped back, breathing in and out deeply and rolling up her sleeves. "Then watch out . . ." She stepped forward and kicked the door, hard, right underneath the lock. It swung open easily and she strode inside, looking around. Switching the light on because Grace's curtains were also drawn. Staring at the man on the floor. Freezing up because . . . _Jefferson._

Their eyes locked for a moment and she stared at him, gasping for breath and staggering backwards into the wall. "What have you done?" she whispered, frozen against the wall, before blinking and dropping down beside him. "Jefferson, what have you done?"

He smiled lazily at her. "Letting go of the past, just like you told me to."

She pulled him up into a sitting position, cradling his head because he felt like he'd collapse back the moment she let go of him. His eyes drifted closed and she slapped him back awake.

She checked him over for major injuries, hands shaking. Small cuts were sprinkled over his pale skin, some of them starting to scab but most on them still bleeding. None of them deep. "Are you insane?" she hissed.

"Quite possibly." He chuckled and closed his eyes again, sighing heavily.

The wounds he'd caused looked much worse than they actually were, though his arms were still covered in blood and he wouldn't, or couldn't, sit up on his own. A bloodstained pair of metal scissors lay on the floor beside him and on his other side, the ripped remains of a hat. One of his hats. The floor was covered in shredded fabric, initially white but also stained with blood. Emma picked up a piece and looked it over. It was soft, like silk or something. Then she saw a ripped, blue ribbon, and she realized with a sickening horror what it was.

_"She looked so beautiful, even in death. Golden curls - much like yours - and her brand new dress. I bought it for her the week before and she kept wearing it, day after day. The white one with the blue ribbons."_

_"I remember it."_

She stifled a scream, her hand clamped over her mouth, dropping the ribbon and staring at Jefferson with wide eyes. He smiled back, running his fingers through her hair. "Emma, sweetie, what's the matter?" he asked dazedly. His hand cupped her cheek. "Why do you look so scared?"

So he'd done it. He'd snapped. Mad Hatter gone mad.

Tears started pouring, thick and fast. "Come back," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Come back to me. Please."

"I'm already here, Emma."

"Not you!" she shouted, hiccuping. Her tears turned into proper crying and she bent her head to touch his chest. "Jefferson, come back."

"I am Jefferson . . ."

"No, you're not, you're the Mad Hatter!" She pulled away from him, scrambling back until she hit the door to Grace's wardrobe, and curled up in a ball. She hugged her knees to her chest and cried into her jeans, shivering violently. The room was silent for a moment, save the irregular, strangled sobs that seemed to echo.

He was gone. Jefferson, her one true salvation, the only person that could ever understand her, was gone. She'd tried so hard to save him but she'd failed, and he was gone, his sanity was gone, and she was completely alone. She felt like she was stranded in the middle of the desert. Or drowning in the middle of the ocean. Or trapped, somewhere, where nobody could and would help her, and she would certainly die.

"I'm not the Mad Hatter," said Jefferson slowly, breaking the silence. "I left him in Wonderland. My name is Jefferson." He frowned, looking at his hands.

She glanced up, tears sticking her eyelashes together and blurring the top of her vision. Her voice stuck in her throat so she coughed, and looked up properly, raising her head. "Jefferson, come back. Please." She crawled forwards, reaching out to him. "I can't do this alone. _Please."_

He reached out to, about to take her hand, before recoiling sharply and shaking his head. "Get out," he muttered. "I didn't let you in here. _Get out_!"

He stared at her like she had come to kill him. "You!" he hissed. "I hate you. Hate you!" He lunged at her, pinning her to the carpet and barely even noticing her hopeless struggling. "You bring everything back, you do. Everything. Every time you're here it's just like she's back. Like everything I tried to forget lies with you." He bent down, his face inches from hers, his body still rendering her immobile and his hot breaths sweeping over her face. "Why can't you leave me alone, huh?" he gasped. "You come along, Emma Swan, and you manage to make me smile, or laugh, or something like that but I don't _deserve_ that!" Tears dripped from his cheeks and landed on hers, heavy breathing pressing into her chest.

She stayed unmoving, breathing quietly. They were so close together but how was it that she couldn't feel anything except a dull excitement at his touch. "Jefferson," she whispered, "it's me. It's Emma. Please, Jefferson . . . wake up, or something, or come back and get rid of this insanity because I need you here. I need you to be here. Please."

Emma's words left a selfish taste on her tongue but she couldn't help it; she couldn't face it alone.

_Face what alone?_ The rest of her life.

He seemed to be waging a war inside his own mind. What to do, what to do . . . He picked up his scissors and started cutting through more of the dress, snipping at the remains and letting his tears run freely. "If I don't look at you," he mumbled, "then you're technically not there."

She wrenched the scissors out of his hands and threw them down, just taking hold of his shoulders and forcing him to look at her. "You're better than this. Please."

"Please what?" His eyes met hers, desperate, failing.

"Stay . . . sane."

"But I can't!" he cried out, and kept on cutting away. His heartbreaking look of despair though soon turned into manic glee and he he grabbed the scissors, seeking out a scraps of the dress that hadn't yet been massacred. "Mad as a Hatter, isn't he? Crazy Jefferson, but nobody knew his name. Nobody knew anything about him. Approach him and all you hear is wild ramblings. Ask him questions and you get more questions, give him answers and he'll answer you. Back in time for tea, right?" He blinked, dropping the scissors and the fabric patch. "Where's Grace? Dead, dead. The Queen's dead, but not before she cut off his head." He picked up the scissors yet again and pressed them against the scar on his neck, eyes squeezed shut. "Gonna go find Grace."

"Jefferson, no!"

Suddenly he chucked the scissors at the wall with every ounce of strength he could muster, screaming in frustration. They lodged in there, the blades at least four inches in. Jefferson wailed again, nonsensical, clutching at his hair as he tried to calm down.

His fingernails started scratching at the dried blood on his skin. "Get it off. Get it off me."

He blinked.

"Emma?"

She was paralyzed with fear. At the sound of her name she almost cried with relief, and stood up shakily, offering him a weak hand. "It's me, Jefferson. I only want to help." He took her hand and, after a small struggle, she managed to get him to his feet with a groan.

"You only want to help me." He looked down at her, eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. "Help?"  
"It's okay now. You're okay. I'm not letting you go anywhere." She hugged him, tightly, almost crushing him with the release of stress and fear and pain.

"I should clear this up," he mumbled, his free hand gesturing to the floor that was covered in white strips of silk, a ruined hat and blood droplets."Say, Sheriff, I'd greatly appreciate a lift to the hospital first, though."

She smiled, wiping her eyes. "It would be my pleasure, Hatter." She kept holding his hand tightly. He led her out, switching off the light and making his way down the stairs with her following.

"Oh, and Jefferson?" she asked, her voice still thick from crying.

"Yes, Emma?"

"I'm not Sheriff anymore. I gave up the job."

He looked at her, slightly quizzical, as if trying to figure out if that was a good thing. "At least we'll no longer have a Sheriff who hits people round the head with telescopes?" She rolled her eyes in response, which only made him grin. "So who's the new guy in charge?"

"David . . . My dad."

"Oh, hell no . . . I'm screwed."

* * *

**Black clouds are behind me, I now can see ahead**  
**Often I wonder why I try, hoping for an end.**  
**Sorrow weighs my shoulders down, and trouble haunts my mind,**  
**But I know the present will not last, and tomorrow will be kinder.**

_**Tomorrow will be kinder,**_  
_**It's true, I've seen it before.**_  
_**A brighter day is coming my way,**_  
_**Yes, tomorrow will be kinder.**_

**Today I've cried a many tear, and pain is in my heart,**  
**Around me lies a somber scene, I don't know where to start.**  
**But I feel warmth on my skin, the stars have all aligned.**  
**The wind has blown, but now I know that tomorrow will be kinder.**

_**Tomorrow will be kinder,**_  
_**I know, I've seen it before.**_  
_**A brighter day is coming my way,**_  
_**Yes, tomorrow will be kinder.**_

_**A brighter day is coming my way,**_  
_**Yes, tomorrow will be kinder.**_


	7. Broken

_Broken_

Jefferson only spent a few hours in the hospital as they checked him over and patched him up. It came as a great relief to Emma that her closest friend was going to be fine.

"Don't you ever do that again," she snapped as they headed out. "I was worried sick!" She threw the car door open angrily and climbed in, fuming.

Jefferson followed her, opening the other car door and looking inside. "Calm down . . . I'm okay now." He leaned against the door, smirking. "And you looked quite scared back there. Worried for my life?"

"Get in now, or don't get in at all."

He slid in beside her obediently.

"What the hell were you playing at, Jefferson?"

Emma reversed the bug out of the parking space, driving out onto the road and heading back to his house to drop him off and go home. He obviously didn't need her. The original panic of losing him was gone and had been replaced with fury . . . and betrayal. The idea that he was the Mad Hatter meant nothing to her. That he'd had a history of doing or saying psychotic things barely crossed her mind. They'd teamed up to get through the grief together, and then he'd quit. That was the cause of her anger. That was what hurt.

He hung his head, staring at his lap. "I . . . I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do if this is how I act all the time. I could pass it off and say 'I'm crazy', but that's not what you deserve. You deserve someone who you can trust and - I'm not that person."

She drove into the forest, following a much quieter road. "What are you saying?"

"That you shouldn't come round anymore."

"No," she replied instantly. "You can't leave me alone. Not now." How could she tell someone who'd loved and lost so much that she wanted to be a part of their life when they were clearly pushing her away?

"Emma, it's for your own good," he insisted. "Please listen to me."

"No!" she said again, indignant. "I'm not just leaving when -"

"Emma Swan, you listen to me right now -"

She slammed down on the brakes, jolting them both. "You want this?" she asked, looking at him. "After everything . . . After what we've been through. You want me to stop visiting you."

"Yes."

Emma swallowed. "Fine," she whispered, then repeated louder, "Fine."

"Emma, please . . ."

"Please what?" She started driving again, hands shaking on the wheel. Her eyes were fixed on the road, her hair falling down in front of her shoulder and creating a wall between them.

"I've hurt you, haven't I?"

"Nope." Her voice was harder than steel. "If this is what you want, then go ahead. I'm fine with it."

The journey continued in a stony silence, Emma biting down hard on her lip to stop herself from breaking down. Thoughts whizzed into her head and back out in a matter of seconds, but she didn't linger on them. She was strong. She could make it without a Mad Hatter in her life. Right? _Wrong_. Her conscience said otherwise. Her conscience wanted Jefferson by her side.

_The idea of living without you now is scary. Don't go. Don't leave me alone._

_Don't leave me . . ._

She swung into the driveway carelessly, pulling up next to the steps and just looking at him. "This is you," she said impatiently. "I won't bother you anymore." The hurt look that flickered into his eyes made her want to look away, but she didn't, she held her ground. Moments passed without him moving. "Well?" she said abruptly. "Go."

He didn't move. Emma shook her head and opened her door, getting out and walking round. She swung his door open, unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his arm and dragged him out.

He let her pull him out of the car without a struggle, stumbling out onto the gravel and catching her hands. "Don't go," he breathed, his emotions and thoughts seemingly fluctuating wildly every second. "Emma, I'm sorry, don't go."

* * *

Nothing seemed to be going right . . . Well, as right as it could go, seeing as nothing had really gone right since Cora got to Storybrooke. Emma stared at the crackling fire, her lips pressed against the mug she held but not drinking. Taking in the warmth. She was still so cold all the time, even stuck between a lit fire, a mug of steaming tea and a man whose arms were currently curled round her waist. She was still so _cold_.

They stayed wrapped up in each others' comfort until the sunlight drooped and the moon rose. They'd gone from sitting on the sofa, to laying, to holding each other and eventually falling asleep. Emma's mug slipped from her relaxed grip, hitting the carpet with a dull thump and spilling stone-cold tea over the floor. It didn't wake her, though. She kept sleeping, coiled up, the Hatter's breaths tickling the back of her neck.

What did wake her was sudden suffocation, followed by being thrown off the sofa and hitting the floor hard. She woke with a start and felt herself tossed into chaos as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings.

"Wha-?"

Pain ricocheted through her shoulder and down her body as Jefferson landed on top of her, screaming for help. In a matter of moments she rolled them over, searching his face, shaking his shoulders.

When he finally woke up, they were both panting like they'd ran a marathon. Emma straddled Jefferson the best she could but he writhed and shrieked even when awake. The petrifying fear dilated his pupils and his glare flicked around the room, eyebrows turned up in fright. Emma definitely didn't regret going to the gym for the last five years as every bit of strength was used to keep him from hurting anything anymore than he already had.

She only let go when his muscles relaxed and the crying stopped. The quiet darkness echoed round them, shadows cast upon their faces and making everything strangely distorted. Smoky remains of the firewood lay forgotten in the grate, and judging by the lack of light, it was still the middle of the night.

"Jefferson?" she whispered sharply, inexplicably afraid of being too loud and yet equally nervous of the quiet. She shook his shoulders, gently, and in return she received a low moan. His eyes opened and he looked at her, glowing faintly in the dark.

"Make it stop, Emma." His face showed nothing but fear and pain. His hand reached up, seeking out hers, and he entwined their fingers delicately.

She ran a finger from her free hand over his forehead, wiping away stray hairs and sweat, only then to lie down and rest her head on his chest. A soft sigh escaped him, and for some reason she couldn't quite understand, it made her smile. She felt his lips touch her hair, and then his fingers, combing out the tangles rhythmically. The feeling was welcome, the feeling that someone cared. The feeling that someone was there.

And she heard him whisper to her, "Go to sleep, Emma," but she didn't want to. He'd either stay awake or fall back into a haunted trance of nightmares, and she couldn't let him do that, right?

However, before she even knew it, her fist was curled round his loose shirt, his faint scent of tea leaves and forests filling her thoughts, and she was fast asleep.

In her dreams, though, came an idea. An idea to help Jefferson.

A saving grace, as it were.

* * *

She warned him she was going home, at least to go make sure Mary Margaret and David were doing well. Well enough, at least. At least to warn them where she was if she went missing without an explanation.

When she got back to his house, she didn't even bother knocking, seeing as the majority of Jefferson's night was spent combing through her hair and he was most likely making up for lost sleeping time. Emma stepped into the house, shutting the door quietly and heading into the kitchen to make a coffee.

When she went upstairs to check on him, Jefferson lay awake on the bed. He barely acknowledged her presence as she walked into the bedroom, simply staring at the ceiling in a trance.

"Jefferson," Emma said, breaking the silence. "Look at me."

He did so obediently, but to Emma it was like he was looking through her, not at her. She sank down onto the bed, kneeling in front of him. "I brought something for you. To help. That's why I was gone so long."

"What could possibly help me?" he asked tiredly, propping himself up on his elbows to make it easier to look at her. "You should go, Emma. You're obviously healing and I'm obviously not."

"Then my work here is obviously not done," she replied smoothly. "Now sit up and shut up."

After a moment's hesitation, he sat up, running a hand through his hair and then just turning to face her. "Emma . . ."

"Shh." From her pocket she pulled out a pendant, unfastening the chain. She looped her arms over Jefferson's head, refastening it and letting the pendant drop down onto his bare chest with a quiet _thud_. It hung right over where his heart would be, the silver chain running underneath the neck scar.

Jefferson looked down at it, going a little cross-eyed. "Emma . . ." He trailed off, fingering the pendant in awe. "Emma, this was Henry's. Why did you -"

"Give it to you?" she finished for him. "I figured it might help you and me both."

"I can't take it, it's Henry's -"

"And he's gone," she cut in again, her voice thick. "Henry's gone and holding onto the past won't do me any good while I'm trying to plan for the future. I want you to have it, Jefferson."

He stared at her, eyebrows drawn together in admiration, confusion and a touch of sadness. "But why?"

She leaned forward, still unsure of herself, and paused right in front of his face. He closed his eyes but she kept hers wide open, looking over every inch of his skin, his hair, his flickering eyelids and parted lips. "Because," she whispered, "because when Henry wore that necklace, it kept him safe from the nightmares. I hope it does the same for you."

A small smile taunted his lips. "It's not the Netherworld I'm suffering from."

"It's a nightmare enough. I just want to protect you."

He swallowed visibly, hand flitting up just to loosen his scarf the slightest. Emma could feel herself going cross-eyed just to keep sight of him, feel his breath hit her cheeks.

"You'll give up on me," he mumbled. "You'll leave me like everyone else leaves me. Abandon me."

She smiled faintly and caught a tear that trickled down his face, brushing it away with her thumb. A vague memory; an old quote. Henry's book. She remembered reading it and she remembered thinking about it. "Jefferson," she replied, voice quiet, "you don't abandon family."

Only then did she close her eyes.

And when their lips met, when his hands wrapped round her waist and her fingers tangled in his hair, nothing to Emma had ever felt more like comfort.

* * *

Losing Henry and Grace was the worst possible thing imaginable, but it happened, and they wouldn't have survived it alone. Together, not only did they survive, but they created something wonderful from it. Maybe there would be a place inside both of them that would never be whole again after losing someone so important. But they had each other, and for the time being, it was enough.

_The end._

* * *

**I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh,**  
**And I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away.**  
**I keep your photograph, I know it serves me well,  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain.**

_**'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome,**_  
_**And I don't feel right when you're gone away.**_

_**You're gone away . . .**_  
_**You don't feel me here anymore . . .**_

**The worst is over now and we can breathe again,**  
**I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away.**  
**There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight,**  
**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain.**

_**'Cause I'm broken when I'm open,**_  
_**And I don't feel like I am strong enough.**_  
_**'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome,**_  
_**And I don't feel right when you're gone away.**_

_**You're gone away . . .**_  
_**You don't feel me here anymore . . .**_


End file.
